Breaker of Chains
by Blazinghand
Summary: Never forget the Breaker of Chains, and why each night we whisper his name. One-shot.


**Breaker of Chains**

Never forget the Breaker of Chains, and why each night we whisper his name.

You must share with no Master this tale, young ones. They warn us never to speak of this man, never to spread his story. They would kill me for what I tell you now, or, if they are merciful, cut out my tongue. You have heard, of course, of the story of One-Foot Yorin and Fara the Sharp who watched over us long ago when we lived free in the land of rivers and wheat. You have heard of Troy the Wallbreaker. You have drunk deep from the well of stories from before our capture. You have heard the stories of our warriors and our heroes, of our enemies and our captors. These are all stories of the dead, stories of those who cannot save us. Listen closely tonight, for I tell you a far more important story, now that you are old enough to understand, and old enough to keep it secret. Come now, and hear the story of the Breaker of Chains, our once and future savior.

Years ago, when you were young and at your mothers' teats, I was toiling in the fields, much as we do every day. The Master's whips were cruel and the sun was harsh on my skin. Summer had just begin to deepen into autumn, but the warm heat still clouded our minds and slowed our hands. I had lived on the plantation for 25 years already, and I knew that I would never be free. Long before, some of us had tried to escape, running east towards the hills. The land was still foreign to me, for I had never left the plantation. Nonetheless, when the others left, I went with them. It mattered not where we went, for no place could be worse than here. For a night, I had hope in my heart.

After we were caught, three men in four were killed as punishment, and the fourth lashed and put back to work to warn the others of the fate that awaits those who escape.

The sun beat down on us, and our work was slow. As the day drew to a close and our progress was worse than expected, the driver drew me aside to be whipped. The others were forced to watch, knowing their fate should work continue at our pace. They chained and bound me. This was rare for a man my age. Still, though I was old, I was not so old I couldn't bear it. I readied myself for the 10 lashes.

That day was different, though, and I felt the fever in the slavedriver's heart as he laid into me. The whip came down on me once, and again, and again until I lost count of the number of times. The pain was unending and I felt the skin of my back begin to flay. I realized then there would be no stopping; the man was going to whip me to death. I would die far from my home: alone, bent, and broken. I was already sobbing, but now my tears fell like rain that hadn't kissed the soil for months.

It was in this moment that the Angel came, plummeting down from the sky, crashing in an explosion of red light and dust. The shock of his landing threw us all to the ground. The driver, the farmhands, and the slaves all fell to their knees or on their behinds. I, who was already bent over, looked up and beheld him. I had heard the stories, the secret whispers passed from slave to slave as we are sold and bought and moved between plantations. Here he was, in the flesh. He was seven feet tall, cloaked in red and black. His beard and hair were long and dark, a curly mass around his head. His entire torso was covered in reddish-brown plate, and held in his hand was a red sword, glowing in the bleeding sunset. I heard it singing a song of freedom as he lifted it overhead, and for that moment, it warmed my heart.

He spoke, first in a tongue I did not know, then in our language. He was here to free us, to slay the driver and the farmhands and the masters. He told us of a route to the east, to a stream with water and a cache of food he laid out for us. He told us how to reach the city beyond, where we might seek refuge and escape our lots in life. Our savior reached out and touched my end of chain, and it dissolved into dust. The dust extended up along the chain, and in an instant none of us had chains any more. The manacles that locked us for so long were gone, destroyed in a flash by the savior's power. I had hoped- I knew what was said of him- but I didn't truly believe until I felt the weight lift from me.

The driver had his wits about him by now, as did the farmhands. The farmhands were smart. They threw down their tools and fled. The driver, fool that he was, dared challenge the Angel. He stepped forward with a knife in his hand and madness in his eyes. He leapt to attack. Where it touched the Angel, the blade disintegrated, becoming nothingness in the driver's hand. The Angel growled and grabbed the man by the skull, plucking him as you might a ripe fruit from a vine. He lifted him aloft, and laughed heartily. With a flex of his mighty hand, he crushed the driver, and we were free.

The others ran, but injured as I was, I could not. I told them to go without me, and they did. Thankfully, I never saw them again. The Angel took a moment to regard me as my fellows left.

"You will not be able to escape with those injuries. I have the other slaves free, and do not have time to carry you away from this place. I offer you the option of a quick death; this would probably be mercy compared to the work they'll give you for surviving this where the slavedriver did not."

His voice was deep and wise, as the stories said. In my agony, I almost wanted death, then, but I knew my duty.

"I must live," I wheezed, "and tell others of what you did. They will learn of you who liberates, who breaks chains, who turns iron to rust. You are our only hope. You are the one dream we have ever had."

He nodded, then. "I shall return to this place, someday, and free those bound here again. Should I find you, I will make sure you escape."

Then, he leapt into the air, further than any man should be able to, and landed on the hill just over there, past the house. A moment later, he leapt once more and I could not see him. That was the only time I ever saw the Breaker of Chains, those years ago.

I know in my heart that he will return one day, and set us free. They say he has never broken his word: that is why I do not give up. That is why, each night, we pray in secret to him. That is why, each month, the adults whisper the tales of salvation, those that have almost faded to legend. Some day, he shall return.

Now that you are old enough, you have been told the tale. You must keep it secret from the Masters, but always hold it in your heart. Never give in, never give up hope, no matter how bad things get. Some day, he will return, and free us. Pray to him, children, and think his name, that he might have the power to do so.

Never forget the Breaker of Chains, and why each night we whisper his name:

 **Zerstor**


End file.
